Trip to the South
by Nactisama
Summary: Demyx is in trouble. He's gone on a mission to a very strange post-apocalyptic world, and things there are falling to pieces. Will he get out alive? First story, please be patient.  No pairings. Rated for language and violence etc.
1. The Desert

Shuff. Shuff. Shuff. Shuff. Shuff.

Thick boots dragged along the soot-like dirt as thin clouds of dust spawned from under the figure's heavy shoes. His cloak whipped out behind him like a cape from the force of the ever-so-slight gusts of wind blowing against him as he trailed onward, creating a superhero-esque kind of scene. That would've been humorous had this place not been turned savage and undead as of late. The heat in the air of this post-apocalyptic world caused drips of sweat to trickle down his face and sting his tired eyes awake again. The sun beat into his back with a wrath as harsh and unforgiving as hurricane Katrina.

Underneath the coat he was visibly baking like he had just trailed into a sauna, discreetly cursing the ball of gas in the sky just for the sake of something entertaining to do in the middle of this wasteland. His ears twitched at the far off screeches and other various enraged noises of the city that resonated in his ears. His mind continuously reminded him that they weren't people- not anymore, anyway. If anyone was left human and had actually been around to look at his eyes, they would have met a very bleak and dead, out-of-character Nobody suffocating in those poor, dried things.

A harsh expression was plastered on the man's face, only affected by the all-too-often gnat or speck of sand that flew into his face and mildly interrupted his focus. He rubbed a flushed cheek irritably as he staggered forward, praying to anyone that would listen to him to give him a small rain puddle, or even a bucket of water that he could clean and drink to regain some energy from, but so far as he'd come, no such luck. To test it out, he ruffled his own sweat-drenched hair; as he'd predicted, it had fallen out of its usual style and into his face, along with the usual seven or so strands, but he couldn't be bothered to worry about it right now.

A furious growl erupted from somewhere behind him- Hunter, no doubt. He'd learned how to identify that infected by either their screams or the occasional loud snarls they made. The Nobody winced in reflex as brief flashes of the numerous times he'd been pinned by a hunter ran through his mind like a movie; all those times he'd been left to defensively flail his limbs until he found a weapon to fight it off with. Horrible! It scratched everything in sight, and good lord was it hard to escape those razor-sharp talons. That wasn't the worst or most challenging to beat in his opinion, but their screams were frightening and got annoying after the second one he'd run into.

But still, those were the ones that always got him out of every infected. Only _those._

He turned wearily and scoped out the surrounding area, slowly inching backwards as he readied his gun for another bout. All he could hear were the short huffs of breath and grumbles venting through his throat that just barely muffled the clinking of the bullets at his side.

Silence. Not a growl, a hiss, or anything even hinting at where that hunter was or had been. The dark form cursed under his breath as he loaded another few rounds into his shotgun and cocked it, brushing a few dishwater-blonde strands of hair out of his face as the wind blew again. He watched for any sign of a pouncing, ear splittingly loud black dot and moved forward taking gentle steps, his eyes shifting anxiously. He looked to his left- no, nothing there but more baked soil. To the right- nope, just more twice-dead bodies cooking in this frying pan of a desert. Behind him- nothing there. …Above him…?

The man heard a shriek and rustling footsteps from behind him, but wasn't quite quick enough to aim correctly and instead hit a wandering zombie too far away from him to even matter.

_Damn strays,_ he thought to himself.

He fought to force his scrabbling hands into aiming correctly, reaching for his gun of choice quickly enough that he managed to have it in-hand when the hunter pounced on him, pinning him to the ground with the force of a train. A feeling of doom washed over him as the slightly dazed being arose from the brief withdrawal of energy it had used to pounce and made eye contact with him. For a second it was held off-guard, as was he- he'd thought he'd have his chance, but scratching wildly at whatever was in its reach, the hunter started him on an excruciating ride of pain. Demyx grit his teeth to act as a distraction from the pain as his fingers fumbled with the gun, cocking it again and finally pulling the trigger. This time the bullet managed to graze the decaying flesh of the creature straddling him, immediately taking away just enough of its skin and clothing to reveal a glowing eye. The Nocturne thought fast and used the momentary pause in time to knock the hunter back and pulled the trigger again. This time he didn't miss his target.

Its dead body lay still on the ground now as the world seemed to whirl around him for a moment. Everything grew silent as he breathed deeply for a moment, scrambling backwards and leaning on his gun for balance until the oddly foreboding feeling wore off his gut. If he got pinned again, he'd be out another life. That thought replayed itself several times through his fatigued but forcibly awakened mind, charging at the walls of fear and concern in his once dream-addled head. It stirred his stomach wildly as he pulled onward.

His boots scraped the ground as he shuffled backwards into a rock and leaned against it, sliding down to an eventual sitting position and glaring at the blazing sun overhead. It was finally growing darker now as he made his way into the city; maybe the air wasn't as clear or… maybe it was finally getting dark, which he didn't know all the pros and cons to, but at least it would be a little more tolerable temperature-wise.

The thoughts in his head seemed to dwindle and darken as his eyes began to feel really heavy and his head started to lean back… no, he couldn't fall asleep- but a nap was just so enticing… he could sleep when he got to the safe house…! Axel was waiting there… wait, he had to make it there! They had to know if he was alright… if he fell asleep, he would die… but a little rest couldn't hurt…

A gloved hand made its way into his diminishing field of vision for about five seconds before it smacked him in the face and his own gruff voice told him to get back up. He looked down at the hand that had smacked him and then at the gun it grasped tightly. He snorted. Finally he rested his newly-awakened gaze ahead of him toward the gloomy city.

"Great, I'm abusing myself to keep awake."

Demyx stumbled forward like a drunken man on a track of rash abandon, leaning on his trusted gun for support as he got back up and moving again. He choked on the powdery dust in his throat and spat at the ground. His eyes jadedly swept the area for anything within sight that moved or even vaguely resembled an infected of any kind. Luckily everything seemed to be calm at the moment.

For a long while he kept his thoughts and movements silent and smooth with more than just a little struggle. After twenty agonizing but slowly progressive minutes of stifling cries and tripping over his own feet he decided that now was the best and most likely only time he was going to get to heal.

Not even the health pack he'd been carrying completely helped his situation, though. Some of his wounds were still exposed and he was more than just a little wiped. At least now he could run… or what he was so far referring to as _'running'._ It was more like a mixture of sprinting, jogging, and falling over his feet like a clumsy giraffe calf every so often. He slid under rock and behind the ever-so-scarce building he came across when the infected decided that he looked tasty enough to eat, and whenever he could, just mowed right through them without looking back.

The taste in his mouth was foul, like stale cigarettes mixed with one of those beers Xigbar insisted he try a couple days ago before his mission. Had it really been days? Turns out, he just wasn't made to be a beer or cigarette guy, no matter how many of the other guys insisted he should at least try to deal with it. As he started to make his way to the outer limits of the city, slate outlines of groups of massive buildings and huge piles of rubble started peering through the musty clouds of pollution that swathed the area. They poured over everything that came close to it, like the freezer in the kitchen did when he'd open it to get some ice cream for the guys and himself. He scowled at the cold impact it made on his bare skin, raising goose bumps like pulling up a weed. His shredded coat thrashed in the sudden gusts of air, causing more shivers to erupt from his body as he continued walking forward, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm.

…

The city was disturbingly quiet most of the time. Rarely would he actually see whatever was attacking him before his opponent got a good couple swings in, and hordes were numerous and barbaric without all the fog. Most of the time he seemed to make it out okay, but that was only possible so long as no more tanks showed up. Kingdom Hearts, screw Xemnas! Tanks were much scarier than a week of scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush for blasting his music too loud or having to be nagged too many times.

After a while of wandering he'd found and used at least two pipe bombs, twenty Molotovs, more than enough bullets, a second pistol, an axe in lieu of using a guitar, and a police baton that met its end guarding a door for him while he escaped a horde. The more he thought about it, the worse it all seemed; he'd only been here a day or two, and everywhere he went things quickly got shitty no matter how hard he fought. _Just one more safe room_, he told himself for what seemed like the hundredth time, _then I can portal home and we're all good. No more going at this alone, and hell, if Xigbar sees this, he might even say screw it and black-mark this world._

Yeah, like that'll happen. BAM! _Chk-chk._ BAM! _Chk._ Xigbar would love this place.

…

Author's Note: I'm trying a new writing style. I'm just now getting into a game I randomly selected off of a shelf at my friend's house, called, 'Kingdom Hearts 2.' I don't know much about the series, nor have I played any of the other games- I just wanted to write about my favorite villain thus far. I get the Nobody concept and think it's really cool, and the missions they have to go on? Awesome. Does Xemnas control them? Or, like, Xigbar? It would make more sense to me, (seeing as he's NUMBER TWO…right? Xemnas seems like the type to have 'work to do', but never really shows progress, which means someone else would have to assign missions and stuff. Xigbar's next in line, so why not? I bet you people already either know this, or I'm wrong and Xemnas does do it.), but by the time you've read this, I'll probably have already written the next few chapters, if I decide to continue this at all. (From there, it's set.) Otherwise, it'll just be a really random drabble. c:

I've never read a fan fiction before (Didn't know what it was.), so sorry if I'm doing this wrong. Please note I'm not keen on everything in the series, nor am I certain of everybody's personality, so (by a friend's suggestion) I'm playing Re: CoM, but only to learn characters of the Organization's ways of doing things. No, I don't own anything but a PS2 and Xbox 360 (Which my sister technically owns the Xbox, and I'm not going to play every game. I like to come up with my own stories, thanks.) Get over it.

Disclaimer: I don't own KH or anything like that.

This implies any other characters or places, etc. stated throughout the whole entire story, so please don't maul me for not posting the disclaimer again. The Left 4 Dead series is Valve's, I think. Thank you.


	2. In the City

Demyx shook his head hard. All that violence and gore- _death_ that his other had sworn up and down to himself that he'd never commit, all blown away within seconds of an outburst of infection. Where was that sunshine he'd promised himself when he still had a heart? The girls or the beach, or the sandy hammock he'd dreamt of swinging on in the subtle breeze of the palm trees while he played? Not here, that's for sure.

He stumbled up another hill of rubble and brick, breathing hard and finally starting to get a headache. _Must be from dehydration,_ the Nocturne thought to himself. His calloused hands scavenged the wall, running over every crack and crumble it made, including all of the little pieces that fell to the ground as they were touched. Another screech from a hunter sounded, and he'd had to stop for a minute to shoot it down, but otherwise nothing was keeping his attention but the crumbling cement wall. He seemed to be tracking something, intent on finding it wherever it was. Demyx wiped another piece of fallen hair out of his face and batted at yet another pesky fly, stepping carefully over all of the dead bodies on the ground. His eyes studiously ignored the corpses he stepped over, continuously contemplating the likeliness of him getting out of here alive.

Where was this thing taking him?…Ugh, another body…that one still looked human…was that… no, couldn't be… water? He was right on top of it! Finally! His boot made a splish sound and caused him to look down. …Nope, that wasn't water. Not at all.

Demyx speedily withdrew his foot from the large red puddle and backed into a car bumper trying his hardest not to shriek. He whined to no one in particular, shaking his foot in the air like it was some kind of crazy dance and then repeating the action with his other foot. A wave of nausea overtook him, and for a moment or two he got a good look at his last meal.

It was impossible to shake off all of the blood, he finally realized with a sigh. If he really wanted to go there, he could have thought of all the blood that had already been splattered onto him every time he killed a zombie. Seeing as even the brief idea of that made him feel sick, moving on was pretty much his only choice; a couple more gallons of spilled body fluids wouldn't hurt him if he'd already come this far, would it?

He tumbled down the rest of the mound with crab-like sluggishness, his body aching too much to go any faster. His leg throbbed with the aftereffects of a Spitter's acid, which caused him to almost kneel it hurt so much- staying securely close to the ground as he made his way through the outsized city. Now that he was actually walking amongst its buildings instead of on the outskirts of town, it didn't look too small anymore. Huge cement obstacles shot out of the ground and leaking gas pipes along with other dangerous difficulties such as cars and busses littered the ground, making it extremely hard for an injured survivor to make their way through, especially_ alone_ such as he was. The infected had obviously either killed each other or been killed by something else because there were huge rotting piles of them everywhere, puddles of their blood seeping into the cracks of the sidewalk and staining the ground a dark shade of a foul, unnerving crimson.

Other times, he could have sworn some still had a fleshy tone of skin to them, like they might have been alive before they wound up where they were now but just didn't make it to the safe house. Demyx started wondering if there even was a safe house around here, and if so, why so far away? He sighed heavily and scanned the walls once more, following the graffiti warnings of others to him; 'Don't look back,' 'Screw everybody else, save yourself!', 'This isn't a flu', 'Witch's nest', and finally, the one he'd been looking for; that little house with a plus sign in it. Awesome.

Demyx hobbled as fast as he could towards the sign, following the stonewashed arrow down a narrow alley and into a bar. He shut the door behind him and took out whatever infected happened to be there almost at the same time. By the time he shut the safe room door, his fingers had just about fallen off from holding the trigger so tightly for so long, but that didn't matter anymore; finally, he could get some backup here! Demyx motioned his hand and stared blankly at the wall. Nothing happened. He moved his hand again. Nothing. Hopelessly staring at the wall and trying one last time, Demyx slammed his palm to the tough cement and focused all his energy on a portal. _Portal, portal, portal…_

So his powers had now decided to fully crap out on him in a full-on crisis of a world.

Demyx fingered the sheet of paper in his pocket, thinking briefly before taking in out and skimming over it. He was supposed to be here for however long it took- this was recon, after all- and Axel wasn't to come on his own, only if needed. It was pretty dead clear where he stood now; either stay here and wait until the door breaks or keep moving and pray his powers restore themselves before too long. Sighing and grabbing more bullets, Demyx started loading the shotgun and nervously watching out behind him. After a while of pacing, he'd figured it was past time to move, but not because he wanted to. He hated guns- the look, the sound. So why was he using one again? Oh, right; because the infected were ridiculously hard to kill with an instrument versus a gun. Taking a deep breath and opening the door, the Nocturne began taking out any infected he saw.

He always flinched when he pulled the trigger. Any time he was called on to hold a gun, his hands automatically started shaking. Demyx felt that if he were to hold it any longer, the gun might slip out of his hands. Luckily he'd found that using his sitar once in a while wasn't completely useless. True, he couldn't summon water, but he could still hit things with it. The Nocturne used the very last of his powers to summon his weapon and began to swing recklessly, taking out anything that got too close.

Now that he thought about it, Demyx hadn't seen any Heartless around. Sure, the every-so-often pack of Heartless had run by, but it wasn't like normal- like every other mission. This was weird; it gave him a sinking feeling in his gut that something was unmistakably wrong.

He just barely dodged a quick slash to his face, taking down the infected that had managed to sneak up on him. _That was close; he_ thought and focused his mind back on fighting. Throughout everything he'd managed to see in his life- starting with when he'd had a heart- he'd never seen something strange (not to mention science-fictional) as this. Zombies? Well, given the world he lived in, that wasn't too far off from what was considered the usual… but still. Zombies. Infected. Golden, reflective eyes, relying on instinct, attacking anything that moved, special kinds- almost all of it made it sound a little too much like a personification of a Heartless to be comfortable with.

Walking so far a distance, he eventually tired out so much it was hard to keep his head up. When something big cast a dark shadow over him, Demyx finally looked up. "A mall?" he quietly mused to himself. Indeed, a mall. A big, sturdy, ridiculously tall mall, complete with stores and everything. There was a torn neon yellow sign on the glass doors that was only hanging by about one piece of tape left. He took it.

"CEDA Evacuation Center. If you can read this and are not infected, please proceed to the top floor."

Alright then, that pretty much said it. Normally he wouldn't side with the government or whoever this 'CEDA' was, but it seemed like his only chance at getting somewhere safe where he could regain his powers. So, was he really going to trust them? Only so far as he had to. Xemnas would almost certainly kick his butt later, but right now he didn't have much of a choice. Once his powers were restored, then he would portal back immediately.

…

Getting to the top floor was four different kinds of Hell. If there were any survivors left, they must have come before the infected got in, or else Demyx couldn't see how they'd have managed. Thirty floors of tiring stairs later he finally reached the top. He took a deep breath and opened the door, expecting to see a helicopter and a bunch of people, probably some in those weird plastic-y suits.

He expected wrong. There weren't any people- no Helicopters. _Anything, _just a nice view of the back of a helicopter leaving him there, at the top of the damn mall with no hope left for survival whatsoever. And still no water.

Demyx didn't know what to do. He was just a kid, not superman. How long could he stay here, watching people eat and tear each other apart before he went insane? It couldn't be healthy for his mind. Yeah, it was just another mission, and yeah, he'd probably seen worse, but-

_What if I don't come out of this okay?_

His palms dug into his forehead and he clenched his eyes shut. The darkness was so frightening, though, he didn't want to stay in it for long. Looking up at the sun, he realized it was setting, and he wouldn't have too long if he didn't hurry. Scrubbing at his eyes, Demyx stood to continue on.

_I have to be a man,_ he thought-_ I _have_ to hold out._

Had anyone ever had to resort to using a weapon besides their own? Surely someone's powers had burned out like this before, right? He tried summoning Arpeggio just one more time- pictured it, heard it, wanted- no, needed it- and came up with some kind of blue wooden stick, with pieces that looked like his instrument, but when he plucked a string, nothing good came from it. In less than a minute, the silhouette of his weapon disintegrated, and he was left without even a shred of his only means of defense.

That wasn't good. That was _never_ good.

If he couldn't even summon his sitar, what _could_ he do? Clearly his power loss was getting even worse; putting forth all that energy would make it even worse. Okay, but he survived his last life for at least a few years without these powers, he could do it now. Well, before this life Lexaeus hadn't helped him out learning to fight, and Zexion hadn't taught him all the things he knew, and Xigbar hadn't shown him these new tactics, and- but he knew them, and he knew them well.

While Lexaeus might have taught him how to fight with his weapon, there were other members in the Organization. Like Zexion, for instance. His fighting style was evasive, uninvolved almost. Sure, with his element that made it all the easier, but some tips he'd given Demyx were still useful. At one time or the other, everyone had fought everyone in the training arena, and everyone had learned something from their higher-ups, even if no one really fought Xemnas, he still somewhat counted. Zexion in particular had taught him the pressure points of the human body- studying under Vexen, that wasn't a great surprise- but eventually, it had come in handy. Say, when he had to disarm a target without killing them. Or he could kill them, if needed, but that was something he'd learned from Axel. The Nocturne wasn't one to kill so easily, but well- now if he couldn't find something or someway out of here, that might just come in handy.

Demyx looked around for what must have amounted to at least an hour, checking everything on the top floor. Rooms, closets, luggage- all of it. From all that work, he'd managed to find a backpack- reasonably light and easy to carry, a worthy attribute- a crowbar that looked somewhat more like hastily bent tin foil but could probably still be useful, some kind of bomb that looked like it had caused the death of a smoke detector or two, a pistol, a shot of what looked like adrenaline, an ammo pile, and a pistol.

The pistol was crappy at best- the trigger got stuck, it was hard to load anything in it, and it killed 'infected' with about three bullets, which- when there were more than one wasn't a _good _thing- but at least he had something. The aforementioned ammo pile had all types of colorful packages in it, ranging from shotgun rounds to just loose bullets everywhere, belonging to guns he didn't even know would match. He took as many packets of ammo for his pistol as he could, loaded it fully- thanks for teaching him that, Xigbar- and slung the backpack over his shoulder.

When he stood up he almost went face down on the floor. He looked at the backpack- set it down on the bed, tried to lift it again, and had no trouble. He put it on his back, picked himself up, and went sprawling on the bed. Looking down at his feet, he realized something.

_The whole world is blurry. _

Come to think of it, when was the last time he'd used his health pack? Not since that hunter attack. All the adrenaline- or whatever it was, seeing as Nobodies couldn't feel fear, therefore couldn't be scared and not have an adrenaline rush- running through him must have been keeping him awake and aware this whole time. Seeing as he'd had about an hour to calm himself, it must have all just gotten to him now. He took out his health pack and opened it, revealing medical supplies that were all hastily used. Oddly enough, he felt better, almost miraculously ready to go again, even.

It must have been part of the world's magic. Every world had its especially different quirks, and Demyx was all too gracious to question this one. Hoping he'd find another soon, he recounted his supplies and opened the door- crowbar and pistol in easy reach- and found more zombies in this hallway than he had before.

…

_This is Hell, isn't it?_ They just kept appearing- one moment he'd be done and the whole hallway would be clear and silent, and then one of them found him, screeched, and he was forced into fight dozens more. It didn't help that they were all fast, unlike the movies had shown him they'd be.

It was getting harder to fight all of them alone, and he kept seeing something strange out of the corner of his eye. Every time he'd turn around, he could have sworn up and down that a fat zombie was watching him. Not only was it just hiding behind corners, but he kept hearing new noises, too- groans and bubbling sounds that made him want to empty his stomach contents onto the floor. If he didn't know any better, he'd say a mutant pig was following him.

All of a sudden, the world went green.

His eyes stung immensely and the smell of…whatever it was had caused him to vomit on his feet. Demyx, on impulse- shot at the direction of the noises and ended up being blown into the far wall. For the next few minutes, all he could see was thick blinding slime and something attacking him which he had to fight off, sight or no.

When his eyes finally stopped burning and he could somewhat see, Demyx realized he'd taken down a whole horde, probably called on by whatever that large infected was- well, had been. He wondered if there were more of them and immediately shuddered at the thought. Those…_things_…were absolutely _disgusting, _and he didn't enjoy not being able to see for so long.

What was he thinking? Of course there were more! There had been plenty Hunters, that's for sure- and Spitters too. There were probably more types of infected that had odd abilities like that; special ones that weren't like the rest. He knew of only five- the Hunter and Spitter, the Tank and Charger- and this one. What was he to call it? It puked on everything, made weird noises when it was lurking, and exploded when killed. What an odd zombie to name…

…Boomer?

Why not, right? All the others, even the Tank, had odd names like that, and they were easy to identify. Of course, there was really no need to know their names if he weren't on a team, but- well, maybe he'd find somebody.

Yeah, right. Who'd want to work with Demyx? _Number Nine,_ the guy who almost always ran away from any fight if it was possible. Number _Nine,_ the useless fighter. For Kingdom Heart's sake, Number Nine- the one Nobody no one would ever want to be paired on a mission with.

No one was coming to save him, because no one knew how long it would take to get to a safe house. No one was coming to save him, because who'd actually want him back, when he couldn't even use his powers anymore? No one was coming to save him, because Nobody actually cared.

He could have cried, but then again- without much water or strength or hope left in him- maybe he just couldn't.

Author's Note: He's in trouble. He's in trouble, and no one is coming to save him this time.

In the next installment of this angst-filled melodrama: _Will _someone come save him? Will they know something's _wrong?_

Alright, sooo- um... my sister and I figured they'd use _'Kingdom Hearts'_ like they'd use _'God'_ or _'Heaven'_, sooo- just take it as cursing, I guess. I don't know what happened here; I got all angsty and weird during this chapter.

Also, I've been informed that it'd be best for me to post a disclaimer along with every chapter. So yeah. You can ignore it.

I'm not sure if anybody is/will read this, but still. I wanted to upload a couple chapters just so I can feel the accomplishment of having my first story out there. Thanks, to any future readers. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own KH or anything like that. That is all.

This implies any other characters or places, etc. stated throughout the whole entire story, so please don't maul me. The Left 4 Dead series is Valve's, I think. Thank you.


	3. Wonder of Wonders

He should've known. Nine was never one for being very punctual, and surely he wasn't all that slow, so what was taking him so long to return to the castle? After the Organization had discovered the assigned world was plagued with some kind of… outbreak of, well… _disease,_ they had quickly tried to contact him, but received no answer. Xemnas had just as well decided two members should investigate this time, in case of needed backup. If one was unable to answer, surely the other could.

How could Number Two have known, anyway? Merely two weeks before, they'd sent Zexion there for reconnaissance, and he had returned with no difficulty. Now, all of a sudden, they send Nine in- and the world is black-marked as apocalyptic.

Surely there would have been a few signs he had missed, correct? The news channel on the TVs he passed, maybe the way people were walking, the topics of randomized conversation… _something?_ But- no, he remembered fairly well what the world had been like; normal, with people mindlessly continuing their lives, jobs, and then continuing on their unknowing, merry way. Nothing was any different there than Twilight Town, for that matter. No one would have been proficient enough to the point of being able to tell if the world was going to end or not in the few passing weeks.

So why did he feel like he was the one to blame?

Assigning blame wasn't going to help solve the problem or finish the mission, so all Zexion could do was shove it off as useless. He waited patiently for his teammate, armed with his lexicon and ready to go.

…

Axel didn't like the idea of returning to Earth- especially when it wasn't even _his_ Earth, not to mention zombie-infested. The others had all assumed he'd be the second best to go, seeing as his world closely resembled this one and he knew Demyx best, having him living next door and all. That was just fine with him, to tell the truth, but he still didn't want to go.

Maybe it was because he didn't want to see his world- well, a copy of it- again. Maybe it was because now it was so much more real than just another video game that you could reset if you weren't dealing very well with- that he couldn't hide behind the screen. Maybe it was because Roxas begged him not to go, and usually Roxas was right on when he sensed something bad was going to happen. When someone close enough to call your little brother- someone who you'd trained and laughed with- _family, _really- was telling you not to go because they had a hunch…

What could he say? A member was missing- the guy that lived next door- and he'd been called to go and find him. The poor guy had been put on the front line with no knowledge whatsoever anything was going to go wrong, totally unprepared. Not to mention, he was an unlikely fighter; the first thing anyone did before sending two others out was check the Proof of Existence. Now, all he could do was go save him. From Axel's perspective, Demyx was just a normal coworker. Yes, he had his flaws, but he certainly hadn't asked for this. From what Axel knew, he was a sweet kid. Did his work, played sitar- the normal teenage stuff- besides all the Heartless killing and the 'no heart' thing, from what he could remember. He could almost call Demyx a friend.

Well, the kid was kind of hard to _not_ like, unless you were Larxene or Marluxia, or just didn't really care like Vexen. But still, as old as he thought Demyx was by now, he still looked particularly young. A kid like that, in a world like _that? _It was kind of a cruel thing to do, in Axel's opinion. Knowing Demyx, it might even cause him to shut down from mental trauma or something when he got back. Worlds like that gave Axel the creeps, and were bound to scare the Nocturne shitless. You'd have to be batshit insane to enjoy being stuck in a world like that, and if for whatever reason he was stuck there, Axel felt extremely sorry for him. Hell, screw the 'no hearts' mantra and spare him his lunch, he felt _sympathy_ for the poor kid- sue him.

When Axel thought about it, it was pretty lonely not waking up to the annoyingly early morning notes of sitar music; ever since Demyx had joined, that's all that had ever greeted him in the mornings, complete with a screaming match through their doors. It felt… wrong. With one last glance at his neighbor's door, Axel said a silent goodbye and gestured, opening a portal in the darkness.

"Bye, Rox." he whispered to the Nobody in his doorway. Roxas flinched.

"Good luck. And Axel?" Axel looked up expectantly at his friend. "Come back in one piece, okay?"

The Flurry laughed dryly, challenging the young blonde. "And if I don't?" There was a moment of silence, and Axel realized he'd just screwed up. Quickly, he tried to fix it. "I mean, uh… don't worry, I will."

Roxas smiled approvingly and hugged his older friend one last time, not willing to let go. Though he did, he regretted it. The room felt immediately colder after Axel left, and not just because of his element. A block of ice in Roxas's gut told him Axel might not come back in one piece so easily this time.

…

Demyx had waited an hour and a half, reading the messages on the safe room walls over and over again until he thought he might be going crazy, and still no one had come for him. Eventually he always had to move on, but every time it was just so hard to leave safety, especially knowing what was waiting for him out there.

His face was flushed and he felt a bit dizzy from the tightening knot of dread in his stomach, but still he opened the door and began shooting, starting to make his way out of the hotel's fifth floor. There hadn't been a safe room since the eighteenth floor, and he could only assume there was some kind of supplies in the lobby. Looking back one last time, Demyx could've broken down again.

He eventually made his way through the horde and to the emergency stairs. It gave him horrible chills- everything grabbing at him, watching him like he was their last hope, and having to look at them and know they were once human before he pulled the trigger. It was eating away at him, unlike it would with any other member. He tried to put it all behind him, but their faces just kept springing to the front of his mind, demanding to be recognized. For now, all he could do was look down the stairway and hate himself. For the world being this way, for the people he had to kill, for things he didn't even know. How long could someone pretend this world wasn't going to eventually kill them? How could Axel and Roxas and millions of other people play games like this and not feel even a little guilty? Well, most of them hadn't actually been put in a situation like this one, so it probably wouldn't bother them so much.

But still. The way they looked at him, even if it was more likely to have been his imagination… He had to regret it sometime. Eventually, he could break down and stop fighting and be broken and hate himself to the point of cursing his existence, but not right now. Right now, he had to get moving. Demyx looked down at his feet and processed what was in front of him.

All those stairs certainly _were_ menacing, but he had to get started sometime. His limbs felt robotic as he walked, having to really think about he was doing or else risking a bad fall. He didn't know why, but Demyx suddenly had to think about everything with nothing else to think about. His head was filling up with useless thoughts. Move your finger like this, lift your feet like that, clench down to shoot, don't let your arm jerk too hard with recoil, don't lose balance, get up and try again, don't look back…

It was starting to haunt him again. Now he knew why he was thinking all these useless thoughts; it was to keep him from letting this world get to him. There was always that undertone of guilt and blame, but Demyx kept it concealed as best he could with useless orders. He just couldn't bring himself to forget.

Once he reached a sign that read 'Third Floor', he sincerely hoped he would reach the bottom soon. With each bullet used, icy claws dug deeper into the black hole in his chest, distracting him from his job. All he could do was hang on to that little glimmer of hope that sparked whenever he got noticeably closer to the lobby.

…

For some reason, Axel had expected someone other than Zexion on this mission with him. Maybe Xigbar, perhaps- or even Xaldin; anyone that had a better weapon than a magical book. Alas, all he got was a five foot two schemer and a piece of paper with nothing written on it but his mission requirements.

"Number Nine has gone MIA. This is a search-and-rescue mission, and is meant to be taken extremely seriously. Number Six will be accompanying you."

Because that certainly gave a lot of information away about this mission. Zexion seemed indifferent to the point of not being concerned at all, but he was always silent like this. The fact that he wouldn't look up at Axel didn't concern him any either; Zexion rarely ever did, unless for some reason he couldn't tell whose scent was there.

"So, Zexion, what exactly is going o- _shit._" Moments before Axel had started talking, the Schemer had been swaying and holding his mouth, unlike his usual behavior. A minute later Axel's shoes were covered with Zexion's lunch. "That bad, huh?" he asked, promptly receiving a chilly glare from the other man. When he realized Axel was just trying to lighten the mood, he could only nod weakly and mumble something along the lines of "Apologies, Eight."

Axel, never being one with a strong stomach, decided to burn the vomit on his shoes to relieve them both of the smell. When he realized that only made the smell worse, it was all but too late to do anything.

"Eight, must you further contribute to the stench of this world?" Zexion snapped bitterly.

"I just wanted your lunch off of my boots!" Axel replied irritably, "And you're the one who couldn't keep his puke to himself!"

Defeated or possibly just not willing to continue with the argument, Zexion looked away into the distance. "There are more significant tasks to accomplish than finding who is to blame. Nine has already been here for approximately three and a half days- the longer we spend arguing, things can only get worse."

"Right." Axel said. It was true, he had to admit. Fighting wasn't the best thing to do when zombies were trying to eat your face. "So, if he's got so much of a head start, how do we catch up to him?"

"I can't say- unless he is delayed so much that we can eventually locate him we will simply have to be much quicker than he. Every second we waste only inconveniences us moreso, lessening the chances of us eventually catching Nine."

"That's motivating."

"Indeed it is."

…

Demyx wasn't sure what to think. A jukebox? Here- in the middle of the café, still apparently working? He could see it through the window as he passed; brightly colored, fully-lit, and somehow not destroyed in the slightest. He cupped his hands in a small circle and pressed his nose to the glass to get a better look. Through the fog, he could see everything in the café was savagely torn apart. Tables were knocked over, chairs broken, blood splotches on everything- everything but that jukebox.

He couldn't resist; Demyx had to check it out. The metal was ridiculously cold against his skin when he reached for the handle, and he pulled back quickly. Something caught his eye and held him back from going in so soon.

There was yet another neon orange sign on the door he was peering into. It read, in big black letters:

"**QUARANTINE**

**CONTAGIOUS DISEASE**

**NO ONE MAY ENTER OR LEAVE THE BUILDING BY ORDER OF THE CIVIL EMERGENCY AND DEFENSE AGENCY**

**TRESSPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED."**

At the bottom, 'CEDA' was written with a strange symbol next to it.

Maybe he didn't_ need _to check out that jukebox so badly after all. But still, the glass was already cracked and broken in some places. Going against his overall better judgment, Demyx creaked open the door and began to walk in the direction of the glowing jukebox and ended up falling over what seemed like twenty or so dead bodies.

As quickly as one could manage, Demyx scrambled off of the bodies and ran into one of the tables, leaning against its wooden surface for support. He stared in horror at the decaying flesh and bubbling infection. Their eyes were whitish-gold, with a gleaming surface like a cat's- kind of like Axel's.

Demyx shook his head and held back tears. "No, no, no." he repeated to himself. "They do _not _look like anybody I know." But as he continued to stare at them, their faces started turning into his coworker's, and they kept asking him "Why?"

He looked away for a second, if only to rest his eyes. His head wouldn't clear, and he knew all too well that this was going to hit him again, possibly harder than the last time did; there really was no way around it.

Sitting on one of the tables Demyx spotted a burgundy bottle. Once he checked closely, he was sure it had to be a Molotov. He gripped it tighter as the sensation crept up on him again; trying to will it to go back down, but nothing would listen to him at the moment. His eye was twitching, his head pounding- everything seemed to be going wrong. He couldn't panic, not right now.

But that panic rose as the Nocturne realized this_ thing_ wouldn't listen to him so easily. Soon Demyx was holding his head and fighting back a throbbing pain in his temples again. _Not now,_ he thought. _Not here, not in this world. _He fell to his knees, still holding his head, his thoughts focused on the ones he worked with, their faces._ Is this what this world does to you? Am I going crazy? Will I look like them? _The thoughts kept circulating, wrapping around him- constricting him until he just couldn't take it anymore. He pleaded with whoever was watching over him with all of his non-existent heart to let him go, stop torturing him. The screams, they kept getting louder and more insistent. His body was starting to wrack and spasm with uncontrollable chills.

For all but a second the world spun around him and nearly went black. Demyx felt himself stumble and tried to grab for a steady surface but landed hard on his knees, a sharp pain stinging all through his spine.

"Why?" the faces screamed at him for the hundredth time, their voices loud as sirens. They all wrestled each other to get into his line of sight, crowding together and yanking his face in all different directions.

"I-I…I don't know!" he screamed, holding his head tighter and nearly bursting into tears with pain. He let out a tortured yelp. They kept repeating the same question, continuing to elevate their voices with each longing groan. His ears couldn't take it; he'd thought they would have shut off by now.

Everything around him turned silent and his vision was quickly darkening. His head was on the ground now. He felt tired- so tired. His eyes were closing and his hands were twitching all of their own accord, his legs wouldn't move and he was paralyzed almost completely. He unclenched his throat enough to breathe in harshly, forcing himself to think through all the commotion going on around him. Slowly he pushed past the faces and the people and _breathed _again_,_ looking forward and focusing on the blinking red light in front of him. When he tried to walk towards it, it burned him. He jumped back and yelped, trying again only seconds later. The red burst into orange and yellow heat, and soon enough he realized what was happening- the building had caught fire.

Demyx struggled a bit with getting himself off of the floor, but woke to find his mind running so fast his legs almost couldn't keep up with him. He had soot smudged on his arms and his hands had a few gashes on them, but he still couldn't figure it out. What had caught fire? What had just _happened?_

Before he could answer himself he tripped over a dead body, but not just any dead body- it was Zexion's dead body. His eyes stung, looking at the chilled corpse. It was so… cold and fragile-looking, veins turned purple and skin rotted gray. The Schemer started to rise, looking at him with unusually bright, reflective blue eyes. Demyx tried to move, to get away. Just as he was to flee, flames engulfed everything around him and all he could see was fire. He blinked, and now Zexion was holding his eyes open even as Demyx clawed at his hands to free himself. He heard a laugh; a booming, deathly hiss of what should have been something joyful and fun. He could see Axel in the flames, beginning to walk towards him and Zexion. Demyx flung his hand forward, watching as the bottle burst and suddenly both were burning in a fire.

Through the merry blaze Demyx could see them dissolving, hear them screeching. Their screams terrified him to no end, but what really got him was when their hands reached out of nowhere and grabbed him, pulling him towards the flares of burning alcohol.

"No!" he yelled in terror, whimpering as he could only bring himself to verbally refuse, and not physically. "Please!" he begged behind a sob, "Please, don't do this."

But as he watched, the flames ate him up, starting from the bottom of his coat to his arms to all of him until he couldn't see anyone's face anymore. He knew this was it, that this was where either the fire or the smoke or both choked him to death, and he wouldn't ever make it home. He knew this was the end.

…

Eight had just been quiet most of the way, amazingly enough for him. He seemed bothered by something, but Zexion couldn't really tell why. After all, he wasn't a mind-reader like everyone had apparently figured; that sounded more like Seven's thing, quite frankly. Once he got the nerve to ask, Zexion quickly realized just what was bothering the Flurry, and this time it seemed the Schemer had missed something.

"Eight, are you alright?"

"Huh? Yeah, fine. Dandy. It's just… this world, well… I expected there to have been more zombies by now. I mean, in all seriousness- we've only run into a handful, and they were all wandering around aimlessly. Especially since we're nearing the edge of town."

As much as Zexion would have liked to ignore it, Eight had a point. "Hm. A substantial component of thought. I predict there is something towards the city drawing them in- each other, perhaps."

"Alright, so- should we maybe, I dunno- think about getting better weapons? Guns, maybe?" Axel said hotly, spinning his chakrams idly at his side.

"Even if we were to go about acquiring improved armory, where might we find it? Unless either of us have extensive weapons training, we cannot even be certain of how to use a weapon such as a gun, even with my… _minimal_ training."

"Wait, since when did you ever know anything about guns?"

"Eight, I spend most of my free time in a _library._ _Reading." _

"But I…" Axel tried to say, but was quickly cut off by an impatient wave of Zexion's hand.

He rushed on before the Flurry could further intervene. _"And not_ _magazines with pictures of females dressed in ill-fitting, shanty rags." _Satisfied with Axel's lack of response, Zexion moved on, ignoring the molten glare he was currently receiving. "Couldn't you have guessed I have come across, few passages as they've been- information on these particular types of weapons, specifically from spending my Other's life working with Two?"

"Hey, if you've got the better know-how on this, I'd really appreciate some quick lessons; all the training I've had is with my Other's friend, who happened to have a dad that owned a paintball gun. These things aren't too friendly and neither of our weapons are the best choices for this. Let's see if- when we make it to the city- we can find a gun store or something."

"A reasonable effort, I suppose." Zexion thought for a moment. "You do know how to aim, correct?"

"Yeah, I can play darts."

Zexion hoped to Kingdom Hearts Axel was just being smart with him, but couldn't bring himself to fully believe he was.

…

Demyx jerked up off of the wooden floor screaming.

And suddenly, it all stopped. One minute he'd thought surely this was all it, surely he was going crazy, and now- now he heard music.

When he looked around, he realized- the building wasn't actually on fire. He wasn't actually dead or dying; it was all just a dream.

But, where had reality stopped and the dream actually begun?

The welcoming sound of music rang in his ears, and he welcomed it as distraction, putting his guard down for only a second while he listened to a song he'd never heard before, playing without him having to touch anything at all. Or had he turned it on before the dream?

"Heya, Tom- it's Bob, from the office down the hall." Okay, catchy song, he could tell. Nice guitar. "It's good to see you buddy, how's it been?" Happy- he liked it already. If he got out of this alive, he might even try to imitate it. "Things have been good for me, except that I'm a zombie now. I really wish you'd let us in." Wait, what? That was a little… spooky how that jukebox was already on this song. As the song went on, Demyx found himself fighting off a gigantic horde. The first time in however long- three days or so, at least- he'd heard any music, and now it had turned on him and made things worse.

_Stop it,_ he told himself; _stop being such a crybaby._ But that only made it worse, and his eyes started to burn and the corner of his mouth started to twitch. _How am I going to fight these off forever?_

For now, without an answer from himself or anybody else- Demyx continued to fight until the song finished and the jukebox eventually cut off. As quickly as the beaten Nobody could manage, Demyx rushed out of the café and back to the streets, hoping to find a safe house before he thought he might be sick. All of this confusion and visions was hurting his brain, and there was seemingly no way to stop it. If anything else went wrong, Demyx knew he'd be dead.

…

For the hundredth or so time in his un-life of being a Nobody, Axel wished he'd had a skill he didn't actually have. Shooting, to be more specific. Learning from someone who barely had enough knowledge on the subject to be called a rookie was not fun, but still- he figured it was better than having to learn from himself, who had next to no experience.

"So, you think I can pass?" Axel asked smugly.

Zexion answered with an unreadable expression. "If by 'pass' you mean, 'do I think you will be successful in killing these atrocities of human beings with well enough skill and stability to proceed to the next safe room', no." Axel's stomach dropped, but it wasn't like he'd ever think of intentionally showing his confidence was low. "However, if by 'pass' you mean, 'do I think you will make it to the next safe room by blind luck and rampant and slightly spastic shooting', then yes, yes I do."

"Alright, Zexion. I'll bite. What's your deal?" Axel asked.

"Eight, I have no idea what 'deal' it is you're talking about. If I had a said 'deal', I wouldn't be telling you, anyway."

"No idea, really? Sure, you can be a real asshole on any given day of the world, but today you've just been shooting out insults and dirty looks like there's no tomorrow which indicates that yes, you do have a deal."

Zexion was beginning to get agitated, that much Axel could see. When the Schemer started walking towards him, Axel couldn't help but back up. When he talked, Zexion's voice was oddly low and icy-calm. "I don't know where your sense of judgment is, Eight, but you'd best find it. You may be able to talk to Nine or Thirteen in that manor, but you will not belittle me. We were sent to find Nine, not evaluate my psyche."

Axel didn't know what it was he was supposed to say. For a little ways, he was quiet, but eventually he just had speak up again. "Zexion, seriously. Something's eating at you, got it memorized? You may not be my first choice for a mission partner, but we're supposed to be a team now, and teammates let each other in on what's wrong, at least when their better judgment could be effected. Now I wanna know- what's wrong?" For a second there, Axel was sure Zexion was going to deck him, but then he just sunk in on himself. He mumbled something inaudible after a while; an unusual reaction Axel would have suspected from a two-year old who had just taken the last cookie from the jar.

"I'm sorry, what?" he prompted.

"I don't know why, but I am somewhat tempted to believe it is my fault we have been sent on this wretched mission."

"And why would that be?" Axel felt compelled to ask after several long, tense minutes of silence. Zexion returned to looking likely to kill him.

"Approximately two weeks ago, I was to come here under the orders to perform reconnaissance. Everything was standard- the bystanders, the environment… _everything._" Zexion sighed, and for a moment there was a lessening of tension as he looked away, "Two weeks later, Nine is sent on a mission and is lost, or for whatever reason he may remain here. Seven is concerned- something about a hunch. On that hunch, Two sends Three to investigate and return with a statement." Axel tried putting a hand on the shorter Nobody's shoulder and immediately regretted it. He didn't receive a physical reaction, but more of a mental one, whereas Zexion's glower seemed to strengthen and repent his consoling gesture. "Three comes back, and suddenly- nothing is fine. Nine's proof remains blue, but Four, Five, and I were talking, and- how long will it stay blue? How long is Nine capable of such warfare until…" Zexion quieted down, starting another sentence instead; "There are things about the start of this Organization that you have yet to learn about, Eight. I suggest we find Nine before history repeats itself and we lose a member, and quite possibly ourselves, altogether."

…

Demyx jerked up off of the wooden floor screaming.

And suddenly, it all stopped. One minute he'd thought surely this was all it, surely he was going crazy, and now- now he heard music.

When he looked around, he realized- the building wasn't actually on fire. He wasn't actually

How long had it been since he'd played, or even heard a tune? At least a couple days; that he could tell. The welcoming sound of music rang in his ears, and he welcomed it, putting his guard down for only a second while he listened to a song he'd never heard before.

"Heya, Tom- it's Bob, from the office down the hall." Okay, catchy song, he could tell. Nice guitar. "It's good to see you buddy, how's it been?" Happy- he liked it already. If he got out of this alive, he might even try to imitate it. "Things have been good for me, except that I'm a zombie now. I really wish you'd let us in." Wait, what? That was a little… spooky how that jukebox was already on this song. As the song went on, Demyx found himself fighting off a gigantic horde. Now, as he thought about it, he wanted to cry. The first time in however long- three days or so, at least?-he'd heard music, and now it had turned on him and made things worse.

_Stop it,_ he told himself; _stop being such a crybaby._ But that only made it worse, and his eyes started to burn and the corner of his mouth started to twitch. _How am I going to fight these off forever?_

…

Author's Note: Oh, lookie here. Seven pages! Wow, I didn't even realize it~

Logging several hours at the office, trying to write this. I hope you guys are happy. D

Zexion's on a roll today. :D

No, I'm not talking about OCs at the last part. I mean, the first six died and founded Organization XIII, and I think I remember reading in one of the report thingie-ma-bobs it was basically Zexion's fault. So, if it wasn't, then whoops; messed with the storyline I don't care to follow anyway again. If he did, you'd think Zexion would feel a bit guilty after screwing up again, even if it technically wasn't his fault.

And Demyx's issue? The way I cast him, he's a pretty nice guy. It just seems to figure he'd think too hard in all this and have something get to him eventually. And uh-oh! Ghosts? Demyx must be in/nearing the French Quarter.

Finally the plot's moving!

Also, have you listened to the L4D/L4D2 soundtracks? You should, if you haven't. Used a couple of them for inspiration while writing this. c:

Disclaimer: I don't own KH or anything like that.

This implies any other characters or places, etc. stated throughout the whole entire story, so please don't maul me. The Left 4 Dead series is Valve's, I think. Thank you- that is all.


	4. Mardi Gras is Dead

The streets were lined with beautiful, sparkling decorations. It was easy to say this place must have been gorgeous; filled with the laughter of children and draped with the smell of baker's kitchens, shelves lined with treats and gimmicks in order of the one holiday even the most negative person enjoyed. All of these signs and posters, beads and party favors, streets and the floats positioned on them, consisted of recognizable colors from Mardi Gras, the one celebration Demyx had been dying to go to ever since he'd heard about it.

He knew what the French Quarter looked like by description, and this place pretty much fit. Demyx could recall small tidbits of information about this place he'd learned from his Other's life, that it was known for supernatural happenings, for instance. If that was even somewhat true, Heartless would haveto be around here somewhere; he knew from experience that Heartless mysteriously clumped where ghosts and the like were said to haunt. So just in case zombies didn't give him nightmares for the next year and a half, this place held an eerie sort of presence to it that Demyx could only describe as… _off._

How he would have loved for this to be a normal mission.

If the zombies dressed as Masked Riders attacking him out of nowhere weren't creepy enough, the disturbing floats just did it. Evil smirking theatrical masks, once smiling, seemed to be mocking him, watching his every move.

Things were getting out of hand. _"Laissez les bons temps rouler!" my ass,_ Demyx thought. And getting there? They already were! If he didn't reach another safe room soon… From insanity, from the infected, from a Shadow that he wasn't watching carefully enough- if someone didn't come save his ass soon, well- that would be the end for him.

…

The city was pretty blank. Sure, this world should have been pretty, well- _dead,_ but this was just ridiculous. Axel let out a long sigh. "Zex, are we getting any closer to where Demyx might be yet?"

Zexion looked at Axel with a scolding glare. 'Zex' was not a term by which he wanted to be referred to. "I do not know any more than you, Eight."

"Well, are we approaching a safe room yet? We've been in the city for a while and there still aren't many zombies around…"

"Are you complaining?"

"…" Axel thought for a moment. "…Guess not."

"Then shut your trap. I'm trying to think." Zexion looked down at the ground, searching over the dead corpses resting at their feet, ignoring the Flurry's pointed scowl. He studied the walls, the buildings, even the billboards- read the graffiti- or what he could make out of it, looked at the cars, studied the corpses one more time, and-

"Zexion? You okay?" Axel had been waving a hand in his face for the past few minutes. Just now when Axel had said something had the Schemer actually noticed it. He was too petrified to bat it away or even make a snarky comment at the moment. "Zex? Zexiooon?" Axel sung out, sounding something close to a child. "Seriously, why are your eyes so big right now?" Apparently the Flurry hadn't noticed the ground shaking or the distant ferocious grunts and growls.

"Eight, you were previously observing the lack of infected in the area?" Zexion asked, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Axel gulped before replying with a simple nod. "I was."

"Would you kindly inform me as to what is happening now?"

"The ground is shaking."

"I thought it might be."

"So what do we do now?" Axel asked, halfway to a panic. His mind apparently wasn't working fast enough to tell him the obvious answer.

"Run!"

…

He knew no one was coming to save him; not even 'CEDA', at this point, so- why didn't he just give it up already? Why did he continue to struggle through this whole mess?

_For my friends. For the music. _

Many things Demyx said would make any sane person think twice about the state of his mentality- these were apparently one of those things, seeing as even he himself had to ask _just what are you talking about?_

…Or maybe that was just from years spent with everyone else asking him that same question.

Regardless, it made some kind of sense. Music was the only thing that kept him rooted to the ground sometimes, whether he had to keep a better grip because of botching a mission or because he was thinking too hard about the concept of what Nobodies are, music was priceless to such a gifted musician like himself, and from what he'd heard, anyway- this place used to be filled with it. The people's hearts, the streets, maybe even the world's heart itself, revolved around the one simple concept of music.

Maybe he couldn't save anyone else, but he could certainly keep the music going. Even one musician- just _one_- making it out of here alive would surely make a difference, even if he didn't technically live here. To tell the truth, every world the Organization visited left some part of itself in them, and if Demyx died, this wonderful world would have nothing left of it and would inevitably be forgotten. Surely he could make it through for that.

Selfish as it was, Demyx took the extra health pack on the table of the diner and used it for himself, trying to ignore the feeling that someone else might need it more if they were to come through here- and went on ahead.

…

Axel was freaking out, had no idea what to do, and was nearly out of air, never mind bullets. The mass of muscles chasing him had already knocked both him and Zexion into multiple walls, and both had easily earned their share of bruises by now. Things kept going from bad to worse, and every time they thought they'd managed to get away it found them again. This thing was so large it was throwing cars like a two year old on a hissy fit throwing dolls. Cement chunks were like pieces of paper to it, and it took bullets like they were bits of _sand._

A loud roar sounded, one that was too close to make him feel safe. Axel looked out from his hiding place behind a building and dodged back behind it just in time to miss another chunk of cement. He clenched his eyes shut only to pry them open again after the ground started trembling. It had found him, and he'd had to duck away, abandoning his gun which only had a couple bullets left anyway. He saw Zexion go down and not get back up, but he couldn't turn around right then to help him.

_What if that had gotten Demyx? _Axel shook his head- he couldn't think about that. Demyx was just lost and needed finding. _That's all._

He continued running, so fast his feet almost slipped out from under him. Zexion wasn't calling out for help, but there was a horde in Axel's way; he couldn't see past the other infected much less hear over the low rumbling yells of the stupid zombies. His pistol was all he had left, save for his element. If his powers had just magically run out like Demyx's apparently had, he was screwed. Axel closed his eyes and concentrated, clearing his mind and calling the fire to his will. He focused- swiped everything about the wreckage, the bodies, Zexion, Demyx from his mind- felt the heat, saw it, smelled it- and opened his eyes to see everything had caught fire, even the larger infected. Axel was temporarily mesmerized by the blaze, taking only a moment to stare at the beauty of his destruction before turning back to the problems at hand.

In a second everything had hit the ground. Trees were nothing but chips of crisp bark now; soot and ash fell from the sky like snow, all the bodies were burned beyond recognition- Axel tried not to get distracted, shifted through everything, tripped over his own feet to get to where he'd last seen the Schemer, searched through body after body- alas, he couldn't find him. A screech sounded, jerking his attention from the numerous corpses. It took a minute for him to realize what was going on, but when he did, he resorted to running again.

The horde was coming. His lungs were burning. More of those _things_ were coming for him, and Axel had to make a decision quick. Stay and look for Zexion, who was most likely down for the count- or make it to the safe room and get out, alive.

More bodies fell to the ground around him as he went. Cutting through alleyways and cracks so small only a select few would be able to fit through, running like a madman, Axel managed to run right into a bright red door, with odd yellow tape and graffiti on it. The headache he got from slamming his head full-force into a steel-enforced door did not have a good effect on his mood. "Ow- sonofabitch…" He slammed the door behind him and shoved whatever he could in front of it. Without anything, not even his teammate anymore, Axel didn't know what to do. Was Zexion still out there, trying to make it to the safe room, beaten just as badly or maybe even worse than he was- or had he really died and faded?

The Flurry held his head in his hands, subconsciously running his fingers through his messy hair. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. If he didn't continue, he'd go back to the castle and lose track of Demyx, and if Zexion were still alive, he might not be here to move the things out of his way when he reached the door. If Zexion were dead, the Superior would want to know immediately.

Axel sighed and looked around, picking himself up off the couch he hadn't realized he'd sat down on and went through the whole procedure of checking out his surroundings.

…

When you're happy and you're safe, you'll do anything to keep it that way. Too bad neither happiness- nor safety, for that matter- was considered a necessity in Organization XIII. Happiness, to most, was something that simply didn't exist. Safety? Merely something to be thrown out the window with no further regards on most missions and when the guys went out to the bar, of course. Demyx could feel it in his bones; the empty, wandering souls pulling at his coat sleeves to come out, let them have him- give up. Then he could feel the other part of him that was not yet willing to, that resisted the urge to just walk out of here and sit there as he was literally devoured alive.

That side had been leading him the whole way, but what happened when time ran out and that side had lost its fighting power? Technically, _he'd_ already lost all the fighting power there was to offer, but his brain- which at this point was just a separate anomaly altogether- still withheld some bit of strength.

_You think High school is tough? Try being in one of these situations daily. _

In the past two hours, Demyx had moved all of three inches. He knew he had to move sooner or later, but the warm colors in the safe room were so much more welcoming than the harsh contrast of the moonlight. Night had fallen, in all its dark indigo glory and ruined fate. The creatures were viler and even grimmer when the moon was out. Infected slammed themselves at the door, only to be blown back with the loud bang of a shotgun that seemed to shoot itself. During the night, Demyx could only hear the creatures tearing themselves apart limb by limb, screeching in pain as another just like it fed on its undead flesh. The smell of rotting seemed to cool a bit, put to rest and carried away in the ice winds of what felt like winter to his skin's memories. The whole night was chilled. _Definitely _winter.

Demyx grunted as the recoil of his gun shook him from near-sleep, where dreams only seemed half-real. He kept wishing he would eventually wake up, that Axel would shake him out of it, yelling about some mission that they were late for. He would grumble and ask for another five minutes, and Axel would throw a fit and eventually just drag him out of bed. If only. Demyx missed a lot of things; his sitar, his powers, his home- but the thing he missed the most right now was his bed.

Another infected thrashed against the door, and with a loud clang Demyx shot it down. It turned out he was getting so tired not even a gunshot would wake him fully. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep; drowning out the sounds of the city with some piece of music that he could play later. Demyx began to hum softly, bringing the song in his head to life.

Pictures ran through his head, maybe memories- of what it was like to be safe, to have actual people around him, to not worry. It was going nicely- smooth, melodic, peaceful- until something changed and the tune in his head turned sinister and everything he pictured was out to get him. Members of the Organization were chasing after him along with other ghostly figures, holding him down, trying to kill him- he ran, sprinting at the fastest speed he could, just barely making it to his door- they were right on his tail. But it was too late. The shadows rose up from their places and grabbed at his feet, pulling him in to some unknown darkness. Pain- he was in so much pain, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The nails kept pounding deeper- he felt like his head might explode. If he didn't do something soon, he'd be dead, but he couldn't use his hands, and his legs wouldn't work. 'Run, run!' his mind screeched, but still his body wouldn't listen.

His eyes fluttered open like broken window shades as he let out a deathly wail. Obviously that wasn't helping. Demyx yawned and looked outside. The sun was rising. He'd been asleep? As his mind pieced itself back together, his nightmare faded back into his subconscious, lurking in the depths of his mind until he closed his eyes again. Try as he might, Demyx couldn't shake that nightmare, or at least some parts of it.

Something growled loudly, but Demyx couldn't remember a single infected he'd come across that sounded like that. As the growl sounded again, he realized it was actually his stomach. _'When was the last time I ate?_' Demyx thought. He didn't want to know, seeing as the thought didn't immediately come to mind like it should. Looking around, Demyx managed to find a map, small as it was, on the wall in the corner. _'Alright, food.'_ both his mind and body grumbled at the thought, crying out and refusing to let him think until he solved the matter at hand, or at least somewhat. Ignoring his stomach's rude interruptions, Demyx went about tracing routes with his fingertips, albeit not knowing how to read a map all that well. From where he was, if the red dot was telling true, the next safe room was a whole village away, which happened to be just past a swamp. "Just my luck." Demyx rasped, "I get water, just not how I wanted it."

…

Author's Note: Running low on battery and inspiration, but here is the next installment! I want to especially thank the one or two reviews I've gotten, and the helpful insight that one of them provided me with. Though I don't especially agree with how lazy Demyx is apparently made out to be, it's not my place to say it's wrong just because I don't like it. On DA, I seem to have noticed a liking that fans have for "Strong!Demyx." Guess what? You'll find him here, because I like him too. c:

Disclaimer: I don't own shit. VALVe and Squeenix own these wonderful things, though I'd love to be the mastermind behind them. I'm only the author behind this story.


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